Page 7 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior (Highland Whispers of Love #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

A s promised, Moira went to meet Miss Barclay in the castle’s gardens early that morning. The sun had just risen, and though she hadn’t slept much that night, she decided to get on with her day. Once she saw the first rays of light streaming through her windows, she seized the opportunity to escape her restless state. She had much to do in very little time; the mystery around the former laird’s death was not going to solve itself.

She dressed warmly, wrapping herself in a thick cloak to shield against the lingering chill of the frosty morning. Luckily there weren’t too many people loitering around the area that led onto the gardens, so Moira walked through without having to explain herself or waste time in idle chitchat.

The gardens were almost silent, sparkling beneath the soft light of the morning. Her breath clouded in front of her as she made her way to the central fountain, its water frozen in delicate patterns.

As she looked around her, she found a stone bench to perch on nearby. Moira pulled her cloak tighter over her shoulders and let her gaze wander across the stillness.

Why had she taken so much pleasure in making Roderick smile last night? That was not what she had come to Castle Fraser to do. And even though the laird bothered her with his impatience and impulsiveness, part of her was beginning to warm to him.

She waited there for some time, lost in her thoughts. Moira did not mind spending time alone, and actually enjoyed the time for herself. After a while, she heard the faint crunch of footsteps trailing across the frosty grass.

“Moira,” Miss Barclay’s familiar, cheery voice sang. “Ye came!”

She stood up and embraced Miss Barclay warmly. “O’ course I came!”

Having grown up in the Triad, her life had been filled with missions, constantly moving from one place to the next, so it wasn’t easy for Moira to trust people, open up or make lasting attachments.

After her family was killed, she had become more sharp-edged and guarded. She had no comforting childhood memories, had had no warm embraces to soothe her, so over time, she had become colder, detached, keeping everyone at arm's length out of necessity and then habit. In the meantime, however, through the silent observation of others she had learned to cultivate a thorough understanding of people. From the moment she had met Miss Barclay, she knew that the woman was someone she could trust and Moira had warmed to her instantly.

“I was worried ye might change yer mind,” she laughed. “It’s nae exactly a warm out here this mornin’."

Moira smiled softly, a playful glint in her eyes. “An' yet, here ye are, bravin' the cold just like mesel'. What excuse could I possibly have?”

Arabella nodded, “Aye, that’s true. An’ ye’re an early riser too.”

“I like tae seize the day, an' ye werenae wrong about these gardens in the mornin' light. They're beautiful.”

The palace gardens were a breathtaking sight, acres of sparkling greenery that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Majestic stone arches, intricately woven with frozen ivy all around them, and snow-dusted rose bushes, trimmed to perfection.

The symmetry was impressive, making the gardens feel as though they were almost too perfect to be real.

“Come,” Miss Barclay said linking her arm with Moira’s. “Let me show ye the best part.”

She led Moira through the gardens, past the icy fountain, and they wound their way through a maze of neatly trimmed shrubbery.

At the center of the maze was a hidden rose garden, sheltered from the harshest of the winter elements. Despite the season, like magic, roses of all colors bloomed, their petals rimmed with frost that sparkled like fine lace. The air was still, and the place felt so quiet that Moira felt truly hidden for the first time since she’d come to the castle.

“It is beautiful,” she said thoughtfully, looking around. “An’ quiet.”

“Aye, it is, an’ there’s beauty in the silence, though at times it can feel overwhelmin’.” Miss Barclay said softly, and Moira looked carefully at her, detecting a slight melancholy in her demeanor. There was a sad vulnerability to her tone that hadn’t been present before.

It made Moira pause, her steps slowing as she glanced over at Miss Barclay, trying to understand the momentary shift in the air.

The girl quickly smiled, masking her pensiveness with a playful expression. “Dinnae mind me. Just ramblin'," she said.

“Miss Barclay,” Moira asked gently, “is everything well?"

“Aye,” she said. “All is as well as it could be. It’s just that this castle can be a wee bit borin’ at times, as fer the most part, it’s as quiet an' lonely as it is now at this early morn.”

“Is that so?” Moira questioned, curious. “But there are so many o’ us here, are there nae? I felt like I met countless people last night.”

“There are, and there aren’t,” Miss Barclay said, her voice detached. “There are people busy fulfilling their duties, working, but it’s a different kind of presence. The kind that doesn’t fill the space, but merely occupies it. Ye ken? There are nae many similar to me.”

Miss Barclay paused, her gaze drifting to the distant horizon.

“But what o’ Mr. McDougall’s daughter,” Moira asked, remembering what Roderick had told her. “Dae ye nae keep each other company?”

“Aye, Miss Fiona,” Miss Barclay replied. “She’s a kind lass, but she’s never here. Mr. McDougall keeps her away from the castle most o’ the time.”

Strange that he should be so angry about Roderick’s relationship with me yet keeps Miss Fiona far from him.

Her curiosity piqued.

“Why would he dae that?” She asked. “It seemed to me like all of ye were very tightknit.”

Miss Barclay smiled softly as though there was something that she was holding back. She then turned her head, briefly, to look around the gardens as they continued to walk. “Aye, some are, but Mr. McDougall only ever comes tae the castle if he has business. Generally, he’s nae very close wi' the others.”

“I see,” Moira said thoughtfully, as she gazed over the roses’ frozen petals. “Perhaps he had some sort o’ falling out?” She added casually, almost as if she was speaking to herself.

“Nay, nae that I’m aware of,” Miss Barclay said. “It is just that his lands are rather distant, on the outskirts o' town, an' they often require a lot o' his attention, so it makes sense that he'd be too occupied, I suppose. It is just a shame.”

“I see,” Moira said. “It is a shame, especially since it sounded like he was rather close wi' the old laird. Perhaps I may have gotten it wrong.”

Through many years of practice, Moira had become well-seasoned in gathering information with tact. She enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company but her insight into the inner workings of the castle and its inhabitants was critical to Moira’s investigation. Despite this opportunity being handed to her, she knew not to come on too strong.

“Indeed,” she sighed. “He was very close wi’ the old laird, may his soul rest in peace. The two had grown up together. They were as close as braithers, but tae me knowledge, Mr. McDougall daesnae have much of a relationship wi’ anyone else here.”

“A shame,” Moira said. “Loneliness can kill ye afore yer time if ye let it fester. An' how terrible what happened tae the late laird. I’m so sorry I never got the chance tae meet him."

Moira recognized on some level that her comment about loneliness could pertain to her own situation but she pushed past any feelings of that sort.

“Indeed,” Miss Barclay responded. “It has been a tough time in the castle. The other night was the liveliest I’d seen everyone in a while. I can only imagine what it has been like fer the laird an' Lady Isobel.”

“Difficult,” Moira said pensively, assuming a somber tone as she stared off into the gardens. “Difficult, indeed.”

After a moment’s silence, Miss Barclay spoke again, “Och, here I am makin' this mornin' walk so very somber, please forgive me! We can certainly talk about somethin' else.”

Moira shook her head, offering a reassuring smile. "Nay need tae apologize, Miss Barclay. I dinnae fear somber topics or difficult talk.”

“Well,” Miss Barclay said, her voice brightening as if trying to shake off the lingering heaviness, “I suppose there’s nay harm in a little change of pace. Have ye been tae the village market yet?”

Moira smiled. “Nay, I havenae yet had the time.”

“Och, ye must,” Miss Barclay continued, “If ye’re looking fer some–”

Miss Barclay’s voice trailed off as they were interrupted by the sight of Roderick, standing at the entrance of the rose garden.

Moira and Miss Barclay had completed a full loop, bringing them face-to-face with him, as though in an unspoken standoff.

Roderick’s gaze was steady, his intensity unmistakable as his eyes fixed solely on Moira. She noticed how the sun’s golden light danced across his face, and her gaze was drawn to the scar above his right brow. It was particularly exposed at this angle, and the sight of it stirred something within her. Something more than curiosity alone.

“Me laird,” Miss Barclay nodded. “What a pleasure, I was just showin' yer betrothed the rose gardens. They really are beautiful this time o' year, are they nae?”

Roderick’s gaze flickered to Miss Barclay and he smiled politely. “Indeed, thank ye, Miss Barclay, fer keepin' me fiancée company. I’m sure ye’ve kept her well entertained while I’ve been performin' me usual duties this mornin’.”

“It’s me she’s been entertainin’!” Miss Barclay replied with a light laugh, her tone playful as she glanced between them.

“Now, now, Laird Fraser daesnae want me too distracted or entertained, is that nae right, me laird?” Moira asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she tilted her head slightly to meet his gaze.

Despite this, Roderick’s face remained both serious and still and the realization that something bad might have happened settled heavy across Moira’s chest.

Roderick isnae in the mood fer jokes.

“Miss Barclay, if ye dinnae mind, could I request some time tae talk wi' me betrothed alone? I sorry, fer I ken this is the second time I’ve interrupted ye both.”

“Och heavens, of course!” Miss Barclay replied, as she smoothed her hands over her cloak. “I’ll leave ye tae it, then. Lady Wilson, we’ll finish our walk another time, aye?”

Moira gave a small nod. “I look forward tae it,” she said, before Miss Barclay offered them both a quick smile and excused herself, disappearing down the garden path.

Moira’s brow furrowed as she glanced at Roderick. Once sure that Miss Barclay was out of earshot, she turned her full attention to him, searching his eyes for any hint of what might have soured his mood.

“Ye seem troubled. More troubled than usual. What happened?” Moira said with a softness uncharacteristic of her usual tone.

Why she couldn’t maintain her usual tone with him was a mystery to her. She prided herself in being direct and to the point, it made her efficient and good at her job. But there was something about him that made her want to prove herself and at the same time turned her soft and compliant. She’d been struggling with these feelings ever since she had arrived and still she had no inkling of what caused these conflicts within her.

She spoke quietly, very aware that a maze was not an ideal place to talk, given one could not see whether there were people in the vicinity.

“Nae trouble, I just wanted tae ken if ye'd been makin' any progress?” Roderick asked, his voice low but direct.

“Since last night?” Moira replied, raising a brow.

“Aye.”

“Slowly,” she admitted, her tone steady. “But it’ll take some time, as ye ken. There are only so many hours in the day, Roderick.”

The air between them teetered on the edge of tension as it often did when they were left alone. They stood in silence for a beat, Moira aware that there was something that Roderick was still not saying.

“I ken,” he responded, “but I just had a tricky meetin' this mornin' wi' the Council. They’re puttin' pressure on me regardin' our betrothal.”

“Aye, an’ what kind of pressure is that? Are they needin’ some kind of proof?”

Roderick betrayed his calm demeanor with a subtle smile that proved Moira had hit the mark. She considered and decided that he didn’t need her adding to his frustrations. “I mean, it is normal is it nae, fer a betrothal between two distant clans?”

“Aye it is,” he said. “But the Council’s most likely suspicious wi' the suddenness o' it all, an' the longer we’re betrothed, the harder it'll be tae explain why the engagement’s come to an end. That’s why I ask about the progress o' things, tae ensure nae one finds out about me... dishonesty.”

“Yes, I understand all that quite well,” Moira said, walking further through the rose gardens, deeper into the hidden, more complex parts of the maze. Her voice trailed, and she looked back to Roderick who followed behind her at a steady pace. “But need I remind ye that ye’re the one who asked me here tae investigate yer faither’s death? Ye’re the one who came up wi' this plan fer the two o' us tae be betrothed.”

“I ken,” he said, from behind as Moira turned back.

“So I’m nae sure exactly how it is on me, Roderick, tae speed things up or somehow manage yer Council’s expectations when it is nae me place, nor me Council tae begin wi'.”

Moira spoke with her usual cool detachment, but Roderick continued to unsettle her. Clearly, she was not as adept as she thought at keeping her emotions under control. She knew it was no business of hers to manage the Council and yet she felt the urge to help Roderick, to lighten his load, despite how he constantly inspired her frustrations.

“Ye’re right,” he said. “I agree, it isnae yer Council or yer place tae manage their expectations. Perhaps I hadnae thought everything through afore I asked ye here tae assist wi' the situation. As Laird Fraser, an' a fairly new one at that, I need tae consider me people, an' perhaps I didnae properly account fer the fact that they might have objected.”

“Look, Roderick,” Moira sighed, “If ye want me tae leave, I can go. I’m nae here fer me own fun. Just say the word.”

Roderick remained silent, the only sounds his footsteps crunching behind her.

“But,” she continued, “if ye truly want the answers tae yer faither’s death, then yer best bet is to keep me around. I dinnae mean tae insult ye, but this case isnae a simple one, and I ken, from experience, that ye cannae dae this alone.”

“Aye,” Roderick responded, his voice quieter now, as though the weight of Moira’s words had settled heavily on him. “I ken ye’re right, Moira. Ye just need tae work as fast as possible, please, because I dinnae think I’ll be able tae hold them off fer much longer.”

Moira stopped walking and turned to face him fully, her gaze unwavering. “This isnae about workin’ faster. Investigations like this take time. If I rush, I risk missin’ somethin’ important, and I’ll nae compromise the truth fer the sake o’ appeasing yer Council.”

There was something about the way Roderick looked back at her, something so commanding that made her want to mollify him–perhaps, she thought, it was the empathy she felt toward his situation. She could see the effects of his loss painfully etched across his face.

“Look,” she said, as she continued to walk a little slower, closer to his side, through the winding garden path. Her voice was steady but tinged with softness. “I’ve already gotten some clues, but if ye want things tae go faster, then I will need some assistance and patience from ye.”

“Aye,” he says, “I have nae problems with that. I’m happy tae assist, Moira.”

“Fine,” she said calmly. They continued walking in silence, the only sounds the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path beneath them.

Moira’s mind was already working through the details of her investigation, when suddenly, her foot appeared to catch on a raised stone. Her ankle twisted sharply, and she cried out as her balance faltered, sending her hurtling forward.

“Moira!”